


tim drake does not speak broke

by lieu42



Category: Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieu42/pseuds/lieu42
Summary: tim would really love to go out with kon on patrol, but he has an essay to finish.kon is adorably annoying. tim is 100% done with everything. airpods will be stolen. desk chairs will collapse. these dorks are in love but neither of them will admit it(this is my first fic on here. ahhhhhhh)





	tim drake does not speak broke

It’s late. The lights are still on in Tim's room, warm yellow bleeding out into the inky sky. Conner floats gently up to the window and taps the glass twice.

  
Tim’s voice floats up, slightly hoarse. ‘Hello?’

  
‘It’s Kon.’

  
‘I’ll be a sec. I need to put clothes on.’

  
Conner raises an eyebrow even though he knows Tim can’t see. There are faint footsteps for a moment, then Tim pulls the curtain back and opens the window.

  
‘I do hope you were just in the shower, not just randomly wandering around naked,’ says Conner, sliding in and landing on the carpet with a thud.

  
Tim’s wearing an impressively oversized hoodie, and his legs are bare. Conner hopes for his own sanity that Tim’s wearing shorts underneath.

  
‘Actually, no. The heating’s gone completely out of whack and Alfred’s away, so it’s been hot as hell for about three hours now.’

  
To be fair, it does seem kind of hot in there. Conner’s always been good at keeping his body temperature even, but he knows Tim prefers his room colder so he can have an excuse to wrap himself in about fifty blankets.

  
‘You fancy patrol?’ Conner asks, picking up one of Tim’s shirts from the floor and absent-mindedly folding it.

  
‘I’d love to,’ says Tim, pulling the window shut, ‘but I have a history essay due tomorrow, so I don’t know if I’ll get out anytime soon.

  
‘You could leave that open,’ says Conner, leaning back into Tim’s desk chair and spinning around a few times. He should really have gotten over the chair by now, but it’s still a pretty fun novelty.

  
Tim fixes him with a half-hearted glare. ‘All the farm boys will break in and murder me.’

  
‘Yeah, but you’d enjoy it,’ says Conner. He ignores Tim’s sarcastic response and starts flicking through the loose-leaf pages on his desk, trying to decipher Tim’s handwriting. This must be the aforementioned essay, although Conner’s struggling to make out more than about three words of it. Tim’s the fastest typer he knows, but his longhand is a smudged fountain-pen chicken scrawl.

  
‘Your teacher isn’t going to be able to read this,’ he points out.

  
‘He wanted a handwritten draft. That’s his problem.’ Tim wanders back to the desk, bare feet pattering lightly on the carpet. Conner spins around to face him, grinning.

  
‘Kon, you stole my chair,’ protests Tim.

  
‘The chair is just the start,’ says Conner, grabbing Tim’s AirPods off the desk and shoving them into his ears. ‘D’you reckon I’d fit into your Yeezys?’

  
‘Take my Yeezys. I need the chair.’

  
‘Sorry, I don’t speak broke,’ says Conner, spinning round and round and smirking at Tim.

  
‘Which part of “due tomorrow”, clone boy? Get out my chair.’  
‘That’s a no from me, dawg,’ says Conner in his best impression of Clark.

  
Tim sits on his lap. Which was kind of Conner’s desired intention, but Tim’s elbows are sharp as hell and he’s clearly not prioritising Conner’s comfort here. Also, he is really warm. Maybe it is kind of hot in here after all.

  
Tim grabs a pen and starts scrawling away at the essay again, splashing blue ink up his wrist.

  
‘Whoops,’ he says, wiping it on Conner’s shirt.

  
‘Dude,’ says Conner, throwing Tim’s hood over his face. Tim flips it back and scribbles a few more words before turning back to Conner.

  
‘Could you stop moving for like five seconds? I am trying to work.’

  
‘I’m bored. Can’t you just tell your teacher something came up?’

  
‘What do you want me to say? “Sorry, my idiot best friend stole my chair and wouldn’t let me work.” Or maybe I could use stronger language than idiot.’

  
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ says Conner, wrapping his arms around Tim’s stomach and resting his face on Tim’s back. ‘You know you love me.’

  
‘I’d love you more if you let me work for five minutes.’

  
‘Promise me you’re coming on patrol with me.’

  
‘Five minutes, Kon, and you can keep my AirPods.’

  
Conner decides this is a fair deal, but he leaves his arms around Tim’s waist. He’s pleasantly surprised when Tim doesn’t call him out for it. Or maybe he just hasn’t noticed.

  
Conner tries to ignore the awful sound of Tim’s slightly blunt pen scraping the paper, and lets his mind drift to an alternate scenario where Tim describes Conner to his history teacher as his “idiot boyfriend”. Which will almost certainly never happen. God, Jon is probably going to get a boyfriend before Conner does.

  
‘I’m done,’ announces Tim, after a suspiciously long five minutes. He leans back and stretches, the chair leaning alarmingly under their combined weight.

  
‘Awesome. So, I get to keep your AirPods and your Yeezys -’

  
‘Not my Yeezys.’

  
‘Buy me another pair of AirPods and we’ll call it a deal.’

  
‘I’ve changed my mind. Give my AirPods back.’ Tim twists in the chair, attempting to steal back the AirPods. Conner holds him back at arm’s length, grinning. The chair is making worryingly loud creaking noises but Tim perseveres, throwing most of his weight against Conner’s chest.

  
The chair collapses. One of Conner’s AirPods falls out.

  
Tim is completely on top of him now. God, Conner hopes Bruce doesn’t walk in on them, because this is not a scenario he’d enjoy explaining. Tim’s face is just centimetres away from his, close enough that Conner could probably count his freckles if he wouldn’t inevitably get bored halfway through.

  
Not for the first time, Conner wonders what it’d be like to close that gap and kiss him.  
Tim leans closer. Conner realises he’s holding his breath. And then Tim snatches the other AirPod out of his ear, and rolls back onto the carpet.

  
‘That was a raw deal,’ complains Conner.  
‘You’ll get over it. Patrol?’

  
Tim stands up, kicking the dismantled chair to the side, and Conner follows suit.

  
‘I have no idea where my costume is,’ says Tim, fixing his hair.

  
‘You’re playing for time. I bet it’s under your bed with the rest of the crap you can’t be bothered to put away.’ Conner grabs at the first thing he finds under the bed, and sure enough, it’s Tim’s Red Robin tunic. He throws it at Tim, and then notices he’s taken the hoodie off.

  
Turns out he’s not wearing shorts underneath it after all.

  
‘Of course you’re wearing flipping Calvins,’ mutters Conner, trying not to stare.

  
‘You’re just salty because you can’t afford them. I don’t speak broke.’

  
‘I could afford Calvins if I wanted them,’ Conner grumbles.

  
‘This is why you don’t have a girlfriend.’  
‘Did you just assume my sexuality?’

  
‘Doesn’t matter, because you don’t have a boyfriend either.’

  
‘Neither do you.’

  
‘Did you just assume my relationship status?’

  
God, Conner hopes he’s joking.

  
‘Tell me who your boyfriend is so I can beat him up,’ he says, trying to avoid thinking about the uncomfortable possibility that Tim might actually have a boyfriend.

  
‘Chill the hell out. You didn’t think I actually had a boyfriend, did you?’

  
Maybe Tim’s face is slightly flushed, or maybe Conner’s imagining it.

  
‘Put some clothes on, dude,’ he says.

  
‘Said no one ever.’

 

 


End file.
